


Voices in the Hall

by CapitanAlpaca



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Actually Jon Snow Knows One Thing Surprisingly, F/M, Grey Wind loves you, Jon Snow is your best friend, Jon Snow knows nothing, Leave the Starks alone please, Reader Insert, Reader isn't having anything to do with Robb's bullshit, Robb Stark - Freeform, Robb Stark's Beautiful Honor, Spoilers if you haven't watched the show or read the books, direwolves, game of thrones is ruining me, incurable disease cliche, send help, teenage angst, teenage hormones gosh wasn't puberty horrible?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapitanAlpaca/pseuds/CapitanAlpaca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bittersweet like every summer fling,<br/>and keeping up with all your stories.<br/>talking to your ghost when I'm asleep.</p><p>no, you're never really dead to me.<br/>maybe that's the mystery of us.<br/>I used to think when you were gone,<br/>I would still hear voices in the halls...</p><p>Grow up. Marry. Bear children. Somehow, you managed to fuck it up.</p><p>Robb/You [slight AU, some divergence, probably sad]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ward in the North

**Author's Note:**

> This is also a story on lunaescence, but I will also post it here. I just needed to write about my love, Robb Stark. 
> 
> Forgive me if there are some typos, I wrote this at 2 a.m.
> 
> Wherein a perfect world, Jon Arryn didn't go and die. Wherein a perfect world, Robb Stark lived. Wherein a perfect world, my precious cinnamon bun Starks were left the hell alone!  
> Okay, maybe this isn't that perfect world, but! let's just take all of the storyline and push it, like, three years into the future. Gimme some time to let Robb Stark love you ~~and then be heartlessly ripped from your clutches~~
> 
> I hope you enjoy~~

There was a time when you amused yourself with the occasional act of rebellion and when you saw Arya throwing her needle on the ground and avoiding anything in relation to stitching, you smiled a little. It wasn't that you were completely reminded of anything you'd ever done, because your mother would have your head if you'd ever behaved the way Arya did. Instead, you were amused that the youngest Stark daughter abhorred lady-like tasks with an undying passion that it rivaled yours toward... _oh, you rather not even think his name._

She was escaping the session with the Septa again and you were sure that Lady Catelyn would deal with her, so you continued on with your own. Your eyes darted over towards Sansa Stark, she was quite possibly the prettiest girl in the North and you envied that fire in her long locks. Of course, you also remembered she shared the same shade of hair as that... _oh, you almost thought his name, again._

Thinking too much, you pricked your thumb and brought it to your mouth, wincing at the taste of metallic blood. Jeyne, one of Sansa's friends, leaned over and asked if you were okay and you gave a cursory smile. "I'm fine, thank you. It was just a little prick of my finger, nothing to worry about."

You were older than Sansa and although she had a few inches of height on you, you liked to believe you had far more grace and wisdom. Which is why you couldn't stand—

"Oh, Sansa, these are wonderful, truly, wonderful. You have the makings of a very talented young lady," the Septa praised Sansa and she smiled. You went back to your own stitching and wondered what Arya had escaped to do. You mused and remembered she was probably bothering Ned Stark's bastard, Jon, and pestering him about fighting. 

You sighed quietly when you saw a drip of blood onto your stitching and Septa Mordane waddled over to gently grab your hand in hers. She gave you a slight look of concern and you apologized for your unusual clumsiness. She have a cluck of her tongue, "You know your condition, go quickly see Maester Luwin, he'll fix you better." She set your things down on your seat as you gracefully exited. 

Suckling on the too of your thumb, you shuddered in the cold of the winter air that accompanied living in the North. You cursed your mother for having sent you North instead of somewhere warm and sunny like Dorne or even King's Landing. Surely, you could be in court and enjoying fresh fruits in the warmth of the sun. However, you were thrust into the bitter, harshness of Winterfell. At least Lady Catelyn was there to bring some comfort with retellings of her time living at Riverrun. You would always smile when she took the time to tell you about her fascinating tales.

You walked through the snow and even that was graceful. It was a small joke that Jon Snow always made when you came around, he would now profusely and pretend to act as if he was unworthy your mere presence. That would make you blush, because even if he was lower born than you, you knew that wherever Jon was... _he_ was, too. Oh, you were getting angry just thinking about that foul boy, he was just so...so...awful!

You heard raucous laughter and you remember that you were near the yard, and Arya was probably teasing Jon...which meant—

"C'mon, Robb, I've seen better fighting from Rickon!" There was Jon's voice, accompanied by Arya's loud laugh. Then, you heard the clashing of metal and you almost thought they were fighting with actual weapons. Concerned with Arya and wondering if she was ready to see her brother maimed, you rushed over to the yard and was easily disappointed. 

Ah, it was just Robb swinging at Theon with dull blades and he seemed so heated in his endeavors. Greyjoy must've said something about Robb that the eldest boy didn't like. He never truly liked Theon all that much, especially being much older than he. You didn't mind Theon, save for a few unsavory comments you'd heard him say to a few servant girls at Robb's last nameday when he began to drown himself in wine.

"Yeah, Stark, you're all over the place! You expect to land a blow with this sloppy footwork?" Theon japed in his usual teasing manner and Robb swung at him. He had lost his usual grace and you wondered what sprung this on. Not that you cared for Robb's feelings, you wanted to know for your own benefit. You could probably throw it back in his face one day. 

Arya was the first to notice your presence and her face went pale, thinking you'd been sent to go and capture her. When she hid behind Jon, he turned to you as well. His smile was a little reassuring. "Oh, Your Majesty, you've graced us with your audience?" He had a playful smirk on his lips an you joined by his side. 

"Please, I beg you, Jon, I always disliked that name..."

"It's true, though, your Grace, you really do walk as if you're royalty. It's actually unnerving."

"I just walk with purpose, there shouldn't be cause for names..." You removed your thumb from you mouth to say all of this. You pressed on the wound with your other thumb, hoping to staunch the bleeding. He noticed this and grabbed your hand, much like Septa Mordane had. 

Arya had peeked from behind Jon and spoke, "Did Septa sent you after me?"

You broke your eye contact with Jon's inspection of your finger and smiled at Arya, "No, I was supposed to see Maester Luwin, but I heard yelling and I got curious."

"Curious to see if Robb would cry?" Jon mused and you would like to say you didn't have a smirk on your lips, but that would be a lie. "You should wrap this before you bleed out in the snow..." **[1]**

You felt Jon wrap a tiny piece of dark cloth around your finger and you thanked him. "Perhaps seeing Robb in the dirt and weeping would be interesting."

Arya laughed. Jon turned back to the fight and by now, Robb was heaving and Theon was getting annoyed at Robb's perseverance. "Come on, Theon, knock him down already!" You couldn't help, but encourage. It would be strongly frowned upon if anyone else had heard you, but then again, none of this was supposed to be happening. (Theon must've snuck out the dull blades.)

Your cheer had temporarily stunned Theon and this made a perfect opportunity for Robb to land the winning blow. He had knocked Theon down and held the dull sword to his chest, smiling in victory, "I win."

Theon shot you a glare and you tried to quell his anger with a smile. That didn't work so well, so you tried a different tactic. One that you knew would work. When Robb helped Theon up, the teens both came over to you, Jon, and Arya. Robb was not making any effort to acknowledge you unlike Theon Greyjoy. "Thanks to your little shout, I lost."

You smiled coyly, "I'm sorry, I had hoped you'd win. I'll make sure never to speak again when you're fighting. I'm clearly a disturbance, Theon. I'm sorry..." Your lips curved down and your eyes met the ground. 

You had known that this display of guilt would instill some in Greyjoy, but you could practically feel another hard stare coming in your direction. One that belonged to the most horrible—

"That's right, _your Grace_ , you probably should never talk ever again. You don't benefit anyone when you go around squawking like a crow."

Your lips twitched in contempt and you resisted snapping your head up and tackling him to the ground, beating him up until he apologized. (You'd probably be an inspiration to Arya Stark, but Lady Catelyn would scold you.) instead, you lifted your head with a sickly-sweet grin upon your pretty lips and nodded. Your grin was passive, well-rehearsed, pleasant but your eyes—your eyes held a burning rage within them and if looks could kill, Robb would've died at least twelve times. **[2]**

The exchange of glares lasted only briefly until a loud: "What are you children doing?!" From the Master-at-Arms came barreling into the yard and you all scattered like insects. 

•

Maester Luwin rubbed an herb and potion paste on your finger before he gave you the usual lecture about your need to be more careful. You heard it from your mother, your father, Maester Luwin, Lord and Lady Stark, and the Septa, Jon, Arya, and on occasion Old Nan. Which is why you walked with purpose, you tried to be careful with everything you did—even reading. One slice from the edge of a page and you could bleed for hours. Your mother had sent you away because of your strange condition, a blood disease, **[3]** you were told. This surprised you when she said you would be going to Winterfell because they had excellent court healers at King's Landing, didn't they?

But, your mother was afraid of King's Landing, and Dorne was so foreign to her, she had more comfort in her nights sending you up North. She said once, "Perhaps, the blood will freeze when the cold air hits the wound, seal it up!"

You were little and you once believed it. However, now you were fourteen and you knew that was all wrong. You had bled for the first time when you were thirteen and every time since, you'd been bedridden when you bled. Maester Luwin was always making you drink potions from his cabinets to ease the pain, but you were always concerned as to how much blood you could possibly lose without you dying. 

So, you were careful. You never played. You hardly got to ride. You mainly played the part of a lady. You never did throw Robb Stark into a headlock, lest he scratch you and you bleed to death. You were graceful in everything you did due to your disability. When you thanked the Maester again, you turned to leave. 

You were just about to be free to go read, knowing that the Septa had probably went to tell Lady Catelyn of Arya's disappearing act (which meant all the young ladies were free to wander) and so you were eager to find a good book. Walking with your usual poise, you couldn't quite understand why you were unceremoniously yanked into a nearby hall. 

Not wanting to yell in the halls, you settled for a aptly issued glare in your assailant's way. It surprised you when you were met with that fiery red hair that you so detested. He had still smelled of sweat and musk and you wondered how a fourteen year old boy could even have such an odor. Then, you remembered, it was Robb Stark and you didn't care. 

"Are you really not going to talk to me? Arya told me you weren't going to say anything to me anymore, because of what happened in the yard, is that really true?" He held your arm with the strength that shouldn't have belonged to a boy of his age. You hadn't said anything of the sort to Arya Stark, but you'd be given a wonderful idea. 

Robb couldn't live with an unrequited hate. He cried when he had the smallest of crushes on Jeyne while he was ten and she said she didn't like him back. **[4]** So, unrequited was nothing that the honorable Robb Stark could withstand. You quite liked the thought.

You just eyes his grip on your arm. He let you go. You knew their would be bruises with his fingerprints on your forearm. Just another reminder of why you hated him so much. He was always in your business. He teased you senselessly, and that blasted Stark would be hot and cold. One minute, he'd pretend to be nice and the next, he'd go off and insult you. The insults would be worse when he would sneak a few drinks with Theon and Jon at night and you'd been coming back from the library to your room. The eldest Stark just irked you beyond words. 

"I didn't mean it, what I said," so now he was being nice. You glared at him.

He scratched his head and then said offhandedly, "Forget it, I didn't mean it...I should go, now."

You watched as the boy made his exit and you waited a moment, just so that you wouldn't accidentally run into him again. When you had been sure he had left, you rounded the corner and bounded right into leather and fur. 

"Careful, little lady," a kind rumbling tone came from over your head and you were so glad it was just Lord Eddard Stark and not his son. He mused a smiled beneath his bristly facial hair, "Should I concern myself as to the state of my son's mood?"

You gave him a doe-eyed expression, "Lord Stark, I-I swear by it, I did nothing to—"

"No need to worry, I was his age, too. I was merely teasing," he eyed your hand, "Remember to be careful..." You nodded and bowed your head low and he continued in through the hall. You'd always admired how Ned Stark was, he was always so kind to you. He loved his children, even Jon Snow. It was a wonder how anyone like Robb could be from the same blood—Robb was probably the bastard. You shook your head, you shouldn't ever insinuate negative things about Lady Catelyn. She deserved nothing of the sort.

You rubbed your forearm absentmindedly and continued your walk to Winterfell's library. Giving Lord Stark's word some thought, you didn't understand. Settling on the fact that boy's were just an enigma you couldn't wrap your pretty little head around, you walked on. The only thing you knew to be true was that boys could be guilted with a smile and a few hushed words—what that worked, you'd not question it too much.

•

Two weeks later and you had found yourself bedridden once again, knowing that your appearance was on the border between a corpse and an undercooked slab of meat. It gave you comfort when Old Nan came by to recant a tale of the Blue-Eye Giant named Macumber and the the Doom of Valyria. She had way of telling stories that chilled your burning fever. 

What surprised you most today was not Jon and Arya singing some tune they substituted your name into, but Robb had come bringing your food and not a servant. This was odd. Ever so.

Especially because Robb Stark was your sworn nemesis. 

He came in and you mustered up a glare that probably fell short of its usual effectiveness, since that red-haired Stark set your food on the table nearby and sat in Old Nan's usual seat by the bed's edge. He wrung his hands and then sat straight and tall, "How are you feeling?"

You had done an excellent job of sealing your lips when Robb came around and so for two weeks straight you'd not uttered one word to the boy. Arya was the most impressed by this. Jon acted like a little messenger bird (much to his own displeasure) if you absolutely needed something from Robb. Bran found your resilience funny, too, because he tried to ignore Robb but lasted about five minutes.

To everyone else, Robb was this golden child, but to you, he was downright nasty. He held some weird contempt for you and you to him. Except lately, he had been hot and cold—ever since he turned thirteen. Gods, you thought he needed to decide. Did he hate your guys or was he going to treat you like everyone else? 

"I don't want to beg you to speak," he resigned to a sigh. 

You just gave him another weak glare. 

"I brought you your supper," he went over to the tray and picked it up before walking back to your bedside. "Bran wanted to give you the food, but it was too heavy..."

You sat silently. He placed the tray on your lap. 

"You should eat, Maester Luwin will have your head if you—"

"You may leave."

He turned to leave, "You shouldn't talk to the future Lord of Winterfell like that..." There was his icy demeanor again.

He left and you ate. 

Robb Stark was absolutely annoying.

•

You were sitting in the window that overlooked the yard, where sometimes Arya would gaze out if she wasn't allowed down in the mud like the men and boys, but you didn't mind warming the spot when she was gone. She sat you had special seating there and if she saw you, she would wave excitedly up at you. You'd return the gesture. Jon or Bran would see it and the same exchange happened. Never Robb. 

So it made you uneasy when he was the first person to notice you up in the window. You wanted to duck your head and crawl away, instead, you accepted his wave with elegance. He gave a small wave and you reluctantly returned it. 

He would swing at a wooden dummy and then glance up in your direction and wave again. You'd wave back. That happened six times. 

However, you hadn't spoken a word to him, still. By now, he had gotten tired of trying to force you to talk to him and Jon remained the messenger bird for important matters. Which were rare, it seemed.

•

You were about to settle into to bed one night and you heard a knock on your door. It startled you that anyone would be bothering you at this time of night, but it must've been rather important if they were. 

So you wrapped yourself in a robe to cover up your nightware and grabbed the candle. Peering out into the dark corridors were always frightening but you saw no one in sight. Had you not looked down, you would've completely missed the piece of parchment at your feet. You wondered what that meant. It could be Arya messing with you...

You picked up the parchment and returned to your bed after closing the door. Placing the parchment near the candle for light, you read in chicken scratch handwriting: _Speak low if you speak love._

And nothing more. A bit of pink tinted your cheeks, because although you were sometimes naive, you knew a love note when you saw one.

But, whom was the sender?

Whom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****  
> _Footnotes:_  
>   
> 
> [1]: Oh, Jon Snow, you're certainly not one to talk!
> 
> [2]: Robb, why do you have to be so dead, my main man? My sweet...
> 
> [3]: Mild Hemophilia is a blood disease that prevents clotting. It's rare in girls, but hey, it's fan fiction and you can't be all grace and beauty (just kidding, yes, you can, because you are!).
> 
> [4]: In the books, Robb ends up bumping uglies with a girl named Jeyne Westerling and I thought it would be funny to put a little double entendre to that and make Jeyne Poole (Sansa's friend) set up Robb's weakness for women named Jeyne.


	2. Dances with Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, so, I can easily attribute all of my sleep deprivation to this one story. So, love this story because I am _literally_ losing precious sleep for this. Oh, well, here's this and it's over the course of your time as a little fifteen year-old combatting Stark feels and the bitter cold of the North. I'm also really hungry right now.
> 
> Enjoy~~~

Arya had found out your secret first. It had been purely accidental, of course, and you hadn't blamed her one bit. _You_ were the one who'd politely asked her if she could retrieve something from your trunk. She had always liked you, despite the fact that you were so very lady-like, because you still liked her fietsy attitude more than Sansa's gossip. So, Arya had eagerly opened the trunk and when she hadn't come back, you went to make sure she was alright. 

It nearly made you keel over and die when she was kneeling in front of the open trunk and was pulling out all the strips of parchment with that chicken scratch. There were hundreds of them and you'd kept every single one. Arya's expression was somewhere stuck between utter bemusement and secondhand embarrassment. You had lifted your skirt a little and joined her side, grabbing the papers with a streak of red dusted on your cheeks. She looked at you with her dark eyes and laughed her little laugh. "You've got an admirer!"

You never thought that Arya Stark would be one to tease you about this secret, but she wouldn't let up. She jumped to her feet and took a random strip, " _I believe winter will never come with you in the North, for you are the summer sun._ Oh gods, this is hilarious!" She evaded you when your cheeks burned redder than before and you gave chase to her. She threw it away in the trunk before grabbing more and reading them aloud with much laughter. 

She was on your bed and you were pleading for her to give them back, but she could not help herself to such brilliantly funny notes. " _I pray to the Gods you hear me wish you goodnight, every night, no matter where I am._ Please, tell me you do!" She roared in laughter as she read another. " _I would wish for no other love than yours._ "

By now, you were so red in the face, Arya though you might get stuck that that or your head might burst! So, she—fearing for her life, and not knowing if you were going to kill her—ran away. You hurried after her, calling out her name. She slid around a corner and you were just lucky enough to catch her before she had time to reach Jon's protection. 

You grabbed her arm, "Arya, please, you can't say anything about this! Please!" She looked up at you and you gripped her arm just a little tighter, never enough to harm her—she was still Lord Eddard's daughter, you'd never mean to do her or Sansa harm. She crunched the parchment in her hand, but steered her gaze away from your helpless one. 

"Please, Arya. You have to promise me!" You were so frantic and she nodded, you unaware of her displeasure of not being able to share your funny notes with someone else. You let her go and held out your hand. She handed you the parchment. "Thank you..."

"Who're they from, do you know?" She prodded, carefully treading the ice. You looked around and told her you'd talk in your room if she promised not to read anymore. They were blush-worthy, every single one. And there were _so many_.

She rolled her eyes and promised begrudgingly. You walked back to your room with the younger girl in tow. Rounding that corner, you cursed your horrendous luck and placed you hands behind you back when Jon Snow came into view. He gave both you and Arya a curt smile and a little bow, despite your pleads for him to stop. "Jon! You'll never guess—" she stopped mid-sentence when you shot her a look. Arya piped down, but now Jon's interest was piqued. 

"What're you two ladies conspiring about?" He stretched 'ladies' out and narrowed his eyes. He looked so much like Ned Stark, you wondered if that hurt Lady Catelyn more. It was always a shame to you that she so detested Jon's presence—he was never anything but sweet. He may have been a tad gloomy, but you knew it was just an attribute common in Northerners. Those long, solemn faces and their cold exteriors, but you still thought Jon could use a hug or two. 

"Nothing," you and Arya both responded. He noticed how your hands were behind your back, they would be in front, had you been walking in your usual regal way. He eyed you suspiciously and you and Arya started to inch sideways around him. He was so fast when he went for the thing in your hand, that you squeaked in terror. Arya's expression flew into a wide grin, she couldn't be blamed for Jon's curiosity. You grunted in annoyance when he laughed at the crumpled parchment. 

"What is this?"

Arya's mouth flew open, "She's got an admirer in Winterfell!" Your hands went to your face and you groaned. 

And that's how you ended up with Arya Stark and Jon Snow in your room, trying to explain how you'd gotten love letters for almost every night since a little before your fifteenth name day. Jon was still through most, but Arya was rolling around in her amusement. 

When you finished your explanation, Jon cracked a grin, "So, you have no idea?" And he said this as if it were common knowledge to know. You couldn't quite understand, but somehow Jon knew more than he was letting on. That grin was so unlike him. It danced with a smugness that Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, would envy. 

"No, I tried to catch them one night, but they must've known I was waiting for them..." You sighed. It had been true. Sitting next to the door, you waited for the sound of footsteps, but none came that night or any of the nights you'd spent on the floor, near the door. It was almost like they knew you'd be waiting. 

"Why don't you ask Sansa, she'd probably know who likes you. She never stops gossiping about it with Jeyne," Arya snorted. You just wished you knew why Jon kept looking at you like he had some solution and wasn't giving you the pleasure of opening his mouth and sharing it. 

•

The following two weeks, you'd received no notes. You noticed you never received them when you were bedridden either. They must've known you couldn't get them unless you asked someone to retrieve them for you—they were cautious, at least.That was always very saddening to you. At first, they seemed a tad creepy—you were afraid they were someone toying with you, but as you consistently received kind words, you started to eagerly await them. That's partially the reason you stopped trying to catch them, perhaps you'd be disappointed in whom it was. You'd like to pretend it was someone handsome in Winterfell, perhaps one of the servants had taken a liking to you. You knew one of the blacksmith's sons were quite handsome, or perhaps the it was one of the cook's sons? You even wondered if it was Jon Snow. He seemed suspicious enough and he always treated you in the best way.

Whomever your secret admirer was, you were quite upset that they had neglected you for so long. It wasn't as if you could return a letter back, you'd no idea whom it was and if you left outside your door, someone might pick it up. That would be embarrassing. 

You were brushing you hair, your father would tell you princesses brush their hair a hundred times on each side, and your mother would sit by you and hum as she did that. You were no princess by any means, but you were their only daughter, and although you had an older brother, he was long since dead from he had joined your father to arms at the Battle of the Trident. You'd never met him, but you heard he was the kindest soul, you're mother'd ever known. It broke her heart when his body returned, and you wished you'd been able to say hello or goodbye at least once. 

When you were born, you'd been a beacon of light for your House and now you were in Winterfell due to your diseased blood. Your mother would send to you as much as possible and you would return a response back. She missed you dearly and she would visit Winterfell on special occasions like your name days, but mostly she had to tend to your father. He had recently grown very ill. Every moment you could, you'd head down to the Sept with Lady Catelyn and sometimes her children and pray that he'd recover so you could see them again. 

You missed them everyday, but when you had come her to be a ward to Lord and Lady Stark (voluntarily, unlike Theon Greyjoy) as no more than an awkward thirteen year-old girl you were glad to see other children your age. 

You knew about Ned Stark's bastard, Jon, but you didn't know much about the other children except that there were a few. You'd never been a sibling before so it took some getting used to, and eventually Arya took to you after seeing you trudge through mud one day. Jon followed when Arya dragged him along. Robb and Theon were no far behind and Sansa was always there when you couldn't be outdoors with Jon and Arya. She was pleasant enough, and you appreciated her when you didn't feel like getting muddied. 

Ricken and Bran would come around only because they liked to giggle at you, you'd suspected that Bran had developed a crush on you when you'd arrive by his refusal to look you in the eyes without blushing. 

Setting your comb down on the dresser before you, you returned yourself to your bedside before blowing the candles out. The winds of the North liked to blow stronger at night, and what had at first been terrifying to hear had now become a little lullaby to you. 

•

Today was supposed to be a very important day and by the extremely busy and loud and anxious air around Winterfell, you could tell it would not fail. No, not when the eldest son of the Stark family's sixteenth name day was to be celebrated. They had been practically preparing all week for this feast and you only snorted to yourself in contempt when no one was watching. 

Robb Stark was finally supposed to be "a man grown", as Lord Eddard had so aptly put. Gods be merciful if Robb even tried to come near you with that. You were afraid you might not hold back on maiming him on his own nameday. You weren't allowed to help out much (there wasn't much left to do anyways) so you were left to wander. Bran was out climbing and Rickon was with his wet nurse. Sansa was probably getting ready and Arya was probably dragged into a drawn bath against her will. Jon and Robb were out riding with their Father and you assumed they'd be back soon since they'd been gone since you all broke fast this morning. 

Managing as much as you could to stay out of anyone's way, you went back to your own room to get dressed for the night's long celebration. You suspected it would be long since now Robb was sixteen and he was a man and all the other men would want to celebrate for forever. You groaned and believed you wouldn't get any sleep tonight with the noise that would probably last through late in the night. 

Dressing in a fine, dark blue gown that Lady Catelyn had given you for today. When the handmaids came to fix your hair in a fashion better suited for a party, you sat thinking of all the ways you could possibly trip Robb in front of his fellow peers. One of the girls fixing you hair giggled, striking up conversation with the other girl whom was gathering your other clothing up to clean, "Master Robb certainly seemed flustered when he came back from ridin' with his Lord Father."

You usually didn't mind them conversing and in fact joined in, but you held little attention to the topic at hand. 

"You don't s'pose Lord Eddard would take 'im to a place like that, would you?"

You managed a quirked expression. 

"The honorable Lord Stark takin' his son to a brothel?! Ha! That'll be the day!" 

And when you figured the meaning of their conversation something inside you flared up. It was hard to pinpoint but it felt like you wanted retch up whatever was left from what you'd eaten from this morning. You placed a hand on your stomach and your forehead sweat a little. The girl fixing your bed noticed, "M'lady, are you alright?"

You nodded a little, "O-oh, yes, I just feel a little sick. I'm probably just thirsty or hungry." 

"Are you due to bleed this week, M'lady?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Thank you for the concern...I just, I'll be fine. Please, don't mind me," you tried to smile without pain. 

They continued without a hitch at your assurance that you were fine. The conversation hopped around but mostly centered around Robb and how he'd be of an age where he could marry and if need be rule Winterfell (hopefully not anytime soon, since Ned was still well). Every time they mentioned his name and possible ladies he could be married to—all belonging to other Houses loyal to the Starks, you felt a dull ache in your chest. You figured it would go away by tomorrow. You were probably just disturbed by the thought of Robb Stark.

When the celebration went fully in effect, you ended up being allowed to enjoy a cup of wine with your food. You'd been sipping from the goblet in your hands and eying the loud celebrations. Throughout the great hall in Winterfell, many were laughing, drinking, dancing, and telling animated stories. Many were enjoying themselves, even Jon had been apart of a few louder drinking songs. Much to the distaste of Lady Catelyn. Robb had seemed eager to join in his brother's joy at first but, for some reason he barely partook in anything of the sort. You'd seen him drink more than his fair share of wine and with that he grew quiet. 

Why had he been under your watch? You really hadn't even noticed until you noticed. Arya was teasing Sansa and running around with Bran so you'd not really conversed with anyone other than when you'd had to curtly acknowledge Robb's presence. You managed to keep your mouth closed whenever he came by. 

You'd long since abandoned the days when you would outright ignore him, but speaking to him was still a rare event. He was taller than you now, much to your own dismay and his build had grown stockier than Jon's. Not that you too any heed to pay attention to Robb's body! 

You sip at the wine again. Wine had never been your favorite and you'd much eater enjoy some mint tea, but it wasn't polite to refuse such an offer. 

Your eyes darted about the lit up hall and found that even Ned had a proud smile upon his lips. Lady Catelyn was astonishingly beautiful as ever and you wondered about your own mother. 

Letting your posture falter for a minute, you slouched just enough to place a hand under your chin and your elbow on the ironwood table that you were seated. Your eyes drifted along the party before growing tired and settling for a spot on the wall to aimlessly stare at. Your blinking slowed and your other hand toying with the goblets' base on the tabletop. 

It felt like a hundred years had passed when you finally asked Lady Catelyn if you could return to your room. She smiled and knew you'd never been too overly fond of parties, and Lord Eddard knew of your feelings toward his son. They let you go without much of a fight and you graciously thanked both of them. 

You'd retreated back to your room with your head fuzzy from wine you shouldn't have been drinking. The dress you'd worn needed to be off and all you wanted was to go to sleep in your featherbed. Snuggle deep under the furs of your bed and wake up the next day and sit in the godswood. That place was always so quiet. You had made it safely inside your chambers without having to deal with anybody. 

Pulling out each pin in your hair, letting it fall around you shoulders, you ruffled your hair. It was always uncomfortable to have your hair pinned up so tight. Sighing in content, you began to derive and untied the sash around your waist until— _thump_

You jumped a little. The music was dull from outside, and the windows were all shut tight— _thump thud._ And then groaning and some slurred curses. Someone was clambering at your door, someone drunk. You'd not had the heart to call out, but you turned in the door's direction, unsure whether or not to peek underneath.

Against your better judgement and as they continued to thump against your door and slap the walls for support, you bent down to the floor to peek under the door. All you could see were boots, but you continued to watch silently. You hoped they would leave already. 

The rushing of the hot springs below the castle ground echoed against the stones **[1]** and drowned out the drunk's mumbling. 

Long slender fingers appeared on the floor as one of their knees dropped and they went to catch themselves. You held in a gasp. Then, some a crunching and finally, it dropped to the floor with an innocent bounce. A piece of parchment. 

Without much thought, you'd gotten to your feet and your little heart beat so fast. It pounded in your chest and you wondered briefly if this was how the Gods intended you to die—die from the sheer giddiness of what was to be known. Hundreds of notes with words expressing the love of another, and you'd finally get to see whom it was. You'd finally be able to put a face on the white knight in your hopelessly sappy dreams. The one that made your heart flutter every time, made you blush madly, and mind full of romantic fantasies...

You hands trembled, your body shook, your mind fuzzy still. The sound of your heart still beating rapidly when you put your hand on the iron handle of the door...

That moment you hesitated. What if he was nothing you expected? All of your silly illusions of grandeur would shatter...could you risk it? Fingers falling from the handle, your heart dropped in your chest and a dull ache replaced the pounding. 

You stood there. Helplessly frozen in fear. You couldn't shatter it—lift the veil off your eyes. You wanted to dream and imagine a bit longer, you thought. The note writer clambered back up (she could tell) and his shoes scraped and shuffled against the ground. You dropped to your knees, soft like a feather falling to the stone floor. 

You'd stayed on the floor, staring at the parchment on the floor until your fingers squeezed user the door to slide the note in. You didn't dare read it, you'd fallen asleep there on the stone that night. Tiny spots from warm tears had been your only company after the candles had burnt out. 

•

Three weeks had passed since Robb's nameday and you'd not read any of the notes that sat by your door every night. Yes, you'd gathered them each night but you couldn't stomach the sight of reading the pretty words. 

In a fit of tears you'd tossed handfuls into the fireplace but you had thoughts about what you'd done and burnt a few fingers trying to recover them, unsuccessfully. A terrible night that had been and you'd thrown up in a chamber pot from the thought of having destroyed such beautiful words. A steely expression had been plastered on your face that next morning and not even Arya dared question it.

Now, you hadn't been acting much like yourself. You hardly smiled unless you had to and you barely talked unless you were spoken to. Jon had grown concerned with your odd behavior and confronted you when you had been glumly stared out at the yard from Arya's favorite window on the covered bridge.

"A copper for your thoughts?" He'd approached and you gave a ghost of a grin. He sat on the sill with his back to the window and his head towards you. You'd been staring out of it, siting like a proper lady ought but a sad expression was strewn on your face. To him, there should be no reason for such sadness in your eyes.

You hadn't spoken with the same perk to your voice, "I was just thinking..."

He crossed his arms, "I hope nothing too terrible. You've been awfully quiet these days..." 

You shook your head and it pained you to even think about it. You wished you could explain yourself without feeling utterly embarrassed. "If I spoke my thoughts, I feel I would burden you, too much."

"You're too kind to a bastard like me," he jabbed his own pride in hopes you'd get angry like you did when his birth status was spurned. Even in joke, you felt a little angry. Jon was a decent person and you'd not seen a reason for such rude behavior for something he could not control.

You just gave him a glance that told him you didn't appreciate the joke. He frowned a little, "Could it be something with your family?"

"I wish it were that easy to explain, Jon."

He gave you a reassuring smile. "I'm around if need to talk."

You nodded. But, you'd just trailed off into the yard. Robb was down there, talking to his Lord Father. "Why aren't you with Robb?" It spilled from your lips and maybe even passed for a hint of emotion. 

Jon peered down into the yard and shrugged, "Robb's been busier now that he's older. Father's been talking with him privately more and more these days. He won't tell me what of..."

You managed a tiny smirk, "You don't know anything, Jon."

But, he knew one thing you didn't that's for sure. 

•

Today, you did a terrible thing. 

A terrible, horrible, utterly disastrous thing. 

So, unspeakably terrible that you wished you'd could turn into an slug and be stepped on by a horse just so you didn't have to live in shame anymore. 

Laying face down, spread eagle, and face burning, you grumbled unintelligibly into the furs. You wished you could turn back time and never, ever did or say anything you did and said today. If you could cross the Narrow Sea and start anew, you would. You would pack up your belongings and sell them all to live in Pentos or Braavos, if only to escape the utter inconceivably horrendous repercussions your actions held.

You banged your head on the feather bed so many times that you were getting light-headed. You had been so embarrassed you hadn't left your room since you ran away—that was ten hours ago. You weren't hungry and since you didn't eat, you didn't do anything but roll around and groan and grumble about how stupid you were. 

Arya knocked on the door and you told her to leave. Bran came by and said he'd been strong enough to carry your food, but you doubted your mint tea was warm anymore...

And Jon...

Oh Gods, you screamed into your bed.

Why had the Gods cursed your heart and mind with such feelings? 

It had made sense, what you did. When wards are taken in, it would be understandable that their foster family would grow attached to them, and vice versa. So, it was no surprise when one day your heart ached so much one afternoon when you saw Jon and Robb and Theon in the yard. Especially, when you saw Jon. 

You felt hot in the face and you suddenly needed to be dunked in water. It was like seeing Jon for the first time in your life—it was so out of the ordinary, so very sudden. He'd always been nice to you. He'd always teased a smile onto your face and when he'd come to you in a dark emotional time, you'd been grateful. He was...well, he was great. 

You'd seem him that morning, and you had been feeling aches in your chest when you saw him around for weeks. It had been when you were bedridden that your mind suddenly clicked. The fever must've made your mind work extra hard. You'd solved the mystery. 

Why, you had developed a little crush on Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard son. 

You had developed a crush.

So, when you saw him this morning, your little heart jumped in your chest. You couldn't take it! You had to tell him. It would make you burst if you didn't! No one was around but him and Robb and Theon—both of whom you cared little for. 

"Jon," you said, coming up to him. He gave you a smile, noticing you were much more like yourself these days. He bowed a little, never failing to acknowledge how regally you walked. You blushed madly, lowering your head when you finally were in front of him. Robb and Theon weren't laying much attention to you; you were grateful.

"Yes?"

"I-I," you wondered what to say. For weeks you had been aching to confess your undying love to this boy and now, now you were stuttering out one syllable. You didn't know what to say. But, someone did...

You knew it may have been terrible, so unspeakably wrong—to use someone's words so intended for your eyes only. They were far more eloquent then you had so far mumbled. You knew it would be the only way to convey how much you liked Jon Snow. It would haunt you forever, though. And even when the line slipped past your lips, you felt somewhere out there your secret admirer's heart cracked just a little. 

You want to die if he had been present for this betrayal. 

"I... _I would wish nothing more than for you to see that life is beautiful especially with you in mine_ , Jon Snow." 

And then, you pressed your lips on his cold, chapped ones. The kiss had been awkward and felt weird because your noses had bumped and your heights were so different. You didn't know whether to close your eyes or not so you just kept one open and you could see the surprise in Jon's. The clacking of dull blades had ceased somewhere in the middle of your confession and your cheeks burned in embarrassment. 

And when Jon pulled you away an held you by the shoulders, eyes holding a painfully confused expression, you wanted to cry. He looked at Robb and Theon yet, you didn't dare move. He gulped and let go of you. He sputtered your name out and kept glancing back between you and the males' direction. "I'm sorry...I can't—"

And that's all you ears before you ran away. You ran all the way away to your chamber and locked the door. You even push a trunk in front of it so that no one could enter. Thus, there you remained. Utterly, terribly upset that you had been rejected by Jon Snow and you had so foolishly ruined a well-forged bond. It would never be the same. You hated yourself. You wanted to die. 

Let the Gods take you now, and Lady Catelyn forgive you.

•

Actively avoiding potentially uncomfortable situations was proving to be the most difficult task you'd ever set your mind to accomplishing. When you were tired of reading or sitting with Sansa to do stitching with Septa Mordane, you'd seek out Lady Catelyn. She had been very different now that she knew of your recently unreciprocated feeling to her husband'd bastard. This made you uneasy in her presence so you sought out Bran. But, Bran liked to climb and you'd dare not even attempt the things that boy could. Rickon would be better company had he not been lacking in the conversational aspect of life. Arya would be found with Jon and you could not even fathom that awkwardness. 

Robb would, or it often seemed like he did, purposely seek out your location. Every single corner you turned. Every single time you tried to return a borrowed book or scroll. Every time you would try to talk a walk in the godswood. He was there. And he never said anything. He would just stare at you. 

You never thought his blue eyes could dig underneath your skin and make it crawl like they did. The only way to escape would be to go to your room and that was the most boring option. So, you would run into Robb Stark almost all the time and his icy stare.

At night, you'd waited for a note to arrive and they'd stopped coming. You thought it was just like the last time there was a pause. They'd come back. It had been a whole two months since. Two months since you had kissed Jon Snow. Two months of trying to avoid awkward tension and failing. Two months and you had even lost the admiration from a stranger. Though, did you blame them? Thinking on your actions, you probably angered the Gods and this was your punishment. 

You sighed. 

You'd been keeping a quasi-low profile this day so far and you'd snuck around without getting caught by a certain red-headed male. Though, just as you were about to count your blessings, there he stood, a tall, stocky character with those piercingly judgmental blue eyes. You assumed he was disapproving of you liking his half-brother, that you weren't even good enough to date his own half-brother. That had made you angry, but his quiet visage was always so odd—why didn't he just yell at you and move on?! You'd rather have suffered one hour of scolding, than two months of silence. The Others take Robb and his staring. 

You tried to step around him, but he stepped to the side. You went the other way and he put out an arm, blocking your path, and you never met his eyes. Though, they were burning holes into your skull. It was like you were an insect under a seeing lens and you were trapped. 

Against your own oath never to speak to him that you'd enacted when you were fourteen, you asked, "Please remove your arm..."

He was blunt, and you'd almost forgot how his voice sounded when he spoke.

"Snow?"

At first you didn't understand, "Pardon?" And then it slapped you in the face. He was angry about you with Jon. "I don't wish to speak of that, please excuse me—"

"Why Snow?"

You'd finally gotten the gall to look up and there it was. It wasn't disappointment in his blue eyes, it was betrayal, hurt, weakness. Your lips parted in bewilderment. Why could Robb Stark possibly be hurt about?

"I don't understand..." You spoke, more to your own mentally spoken question of concern. 

He turned his head to face the side, lips in a tight line and his other hand at his side clenched into a fist. "Why did you have to kiss him?"

Your cheeks burned in remembrance, "I'd answer, but I'm afraid the answer was painfully obvious that day, Robb." You regretted the fact you'd said his name because his fisted up hand slammed into the wall on the other side. You knew he'd hurt himself on the stone because he was bleeding on his knuckles. You'd whimpered in shock when he'd did it. "Don't do that..."

"Why not?!" He growled, baring his teeth, much like that of Stark's house sigil would. 

You remained there, not shrinking under his angry and hurt growl, he'd gotten closer when he'd yelled. You pulled your lips into a straight line, before saying, "Please move, Robb."

"Just tell me why?"

You had had enough of his interrogation. You used your hand to push his arm, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he couldn't hurt you. He'd snap and growl and punch at walls, but Lord Eddard had never instilled him a single ill will towards a lady. He didn't let you escape easily though, grabbing your forearm tightly, fingers pressing into your flesh. It was going to bruise again. "Let me go, Robb."

"You haven't answered my question."

"And why should I have cause to?" You eyed him, a little more confident than before. When you were determined, like you were now, you'd always been more confident. No matter how much your knees wobbled, your voice did little to waver when you were truly determined. This was one of those times. "Why should I explain what I did to you of all people?"

He gripped tighter, "You're a stupid girl, you know that?" You pried his fingers off your arm and bent the fingers back until his released your arm, but his hand found a new target. He grabbed your other wrist in his hand. You let out a gasp when he turned you to face him. "You're a stupid girl."

The second time you'd ever been kissed in your life was everything you'd ever wanted in your life. You wanted to feel like the only holding thing keeping your body from melting was their lips. That even if the rest of the world was rushing by, you were stuck in that freeze-frame moment of your life. His lips soft against yourself and molded like you and he had been crafted to kiss one another. Your neck tilted back comfortably just enough when he kissed you up against a wall. The book in your hand dropped to the floor some time after that and his grip on your wrist had loosened. The other one of his hands had found your hair, and he pressed your faces together gently. You hadn't even been able to gather where he'd learned to kiss girls, but you knew this was how it was supposed to feel to be kissed. 

To be kissed like this was a blessing from the Gods themselves. He pulled away and you both stared at each, heavy breathing filled the space between you.

The third time you kissed a boy was even better than the second. This one was you clutching at his leather tunic and your hands wandering to that red-hair you hated so much, to the fair skin that you wanted to mar so many times before, and to that dumb face of Robb Stark. You kissed the boy you'd detested since you were twelve like your life depended on it and when you had finally let him go, he kissed the corner of your mouth before leaving you breathless in the hall. You sat there for an hour, at least before some servant of Winterfell had asked if you needed water. 

The only thing you needed was a cold bath, and for Robb Stark to never stop kissing you. 

Like ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
> **Footnotes:**  
>   
> 
>  **[1]** : If you didn't know, the castle of Winterfell was constructed on a bed of hot springs and that heats the castle floors—well, at least for Lady Catelyn's room and I was thought you'd want to be warm, too, so boom. You're just important like that.


	3. hit and miss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this in so long, but I swear everything is being worked on. I just have so many works now that I am back logged ;^;  
>  ~~like the Jon Snow/Reader I have started ahhhh~~
> 
> But, after season 6, I think we all need a bit of Robb back, eh??
> 
> The story is about to crossover into where the show/book start like maybe two more chapters??
> 
> Anyways, thanks for sticking around this long lol I'm such a bad author >.

Trudging through the mud, you cursed Theon Greyjoy under your breath. You'd have cursed him aloud but, it was not an hour that you—a respectable young lady—should have been up and about. There was an explanation for your sudden night visit to Jon Snow's room—that could have been seen as _scandalous_ as Theon had so aptly described it—but, you weren't doing anything indecent despite your brief crush on Jon. Surely, Theon could have listened to your desperate pleas for him to listen and hear you out but, he just _assumed_ he knew your reasons. 

(Which is why you were trudging.)

It was, like it always was, cold in Winterfell and you were trying not to shiver loudly. You were afraid you'd wake up the servants or even alert the men that sometimes patrolled the Winterfell grounds. You'd die if Lady Catelyn caught wind of you visiting Ned's bastard son in the middle of the night. Again, you were reminded that you did have a reason that wasn't inappropriate but, would she even care? Plus, it would be dreadful if she found out and punished you because Jon didn't even tell you anything! He'd been useless and it would be embarrassing to even get caught sneaking around at night! He'd completely wasted your precious hours of potential sleep only to lead you back to square one. 

You'd been hellbent on figuring out what the hell had happened to Robb Stark. 

One moment, he was upset with you because you had a crush on Jon and then the next, you two were entangled in each other like two lovers after a long absence. Just the thought of it brought a flush to your cheeks and you held your arms tight to your body because you couldn't be bothered with such feelings. You felt guilty. Jon was gracious as ever even when you were bumbling over an apology after apology. He only seemed embarrassed that you wouldn't stop saying that you were sorry. Arya had already teased him numb to it all. 

However, when it came to the next issue at hand, he refused to look you in the eyes with a definitive answer. He'd been vague and aloof when you'd pressed him desperately on what the hell was going through Robb's thick head when he kissed you. Surprisingly, Jon didn't nearly seemed as shocked as you had been when you told him of Robb's actions. That was the first sign that Jon Snow was keeping secrets for his half-brother.

On top of dealing with Robb's impromptu kisses, you were struggling to accept any love notes that found their way to your doorstep. They had begun to dwindle and you thought that maybe whomever it was had seen you and Jon, or you and Robb. 

You slapped your hands to your face in embarrassment. What would your mother think? You. You, the sick little girl, juggling three love interests like some sort of sick heroine in one of those awful romance novels that your old maids would sometimes read to you jokingly. You'd giggled at the stories when you were little not fully understanding the situation but the grown ups blushed and that made you assume it was funny. Of course, now, you could not say that any sort of laughter was bubbling inside you. Instead the guilt was festering like a wound. 

You rubbed your cheeks in the cold and trudged on. A downcast expression stayed on your face and you turned to the door that lead into the corridors where your room was located. As soon as you closed it behind you, a comforting warmth fell over you like a blanket and you were ever so thankful for the hot springs under the castle. There were still a handful of hours before the sun would rise and you shuffled down the dim hall towards your chambers, a rosiness to your face from the chilly outside weather. 

Things were complicated now. Surely, you could just ignore the situation entirely, go back to despising Robb, and wait until some Lord married you and took you away from Winterfell. That seemed like a feasible plan. It was really the plan all along. You were a highborn lady. You find a suitable man to marry, marry him, and then, you were to carry on your husband's lineage. It was all very cut and dry for you. None of this uncertainly was part of the master plan of your life. One day, your ward status would leave you and you'd go live in some other castle or keep and raise your children. One day, you'd leave Winterfell and Robb behind.

Your heart ached at the thought. 

Just as you realized you'd been staring at the ground, stopped in the middle of the hall, you heard your name being called softly. You lifted your head and strained to see whom it was. 

Sure enough, your heart recognized him before your head did.

"What are you doing in the middle of the hall at this hour?" At first you couldn't make out his face completely, but his build was so familiar against the flames of the torches that lit up the corridor. His hair soaking in the light making it look like it was on fire, too, and you could probably faint at the sight but instead, you straightened up. 

"I-I was...I'm going back to bed. Excuse me." You tried to brush past him, but he turned to follow you, and you stopped again before turning on your heels. "Why are you following me, Robb?"

He chuckled at how flustered you sounded and pointed down the hall, "My room."

"Ah..." You turned back around and picked up your pace. His steps blended and synchronized with yours and you wanted to start running until you made it to your room but instead you hugged the wall until your door was within reach. Robb had always been better at swordplay than Theon, more graceful and quick than Jon, and his hand shot out for the handle of the door. "Robb..." You stared at the offensive appendage and he slid into view. Your eyes stayed glued to his fingers, though. 

He was silent and it was beginning to grow uncomfortable. The tension of something unspoken rising almost instantly. Your hands fidgeted with one another and his natural odor was filling up your nostrils, intoxicating you with memories of his lips on yours. He spoke your name again and the betrayal of your body made you blush fiercely under his gaze. 

His blue eyes stared down at you with an unnerving tenderness that you wished you could phase through the wall and escape it. This was the boy who'd pulled your hair when you were ten, the same boy who had quite literally stolen your breath away with one kiss. Why couldn't he just make up his mind? _Why couldn't you for that matter?_ Your tongue darted out to lick your chapped lips, his eyes flicked down and you could tell he was watching. 

You spoke just barely above a whisper, feeling much too nervous under his intensity, "Robb, let go of my door."

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he'd been put in and moved his hand from the handle. You could feel the soft pressure of his fingers finding their way through the hair that fell over your shoulder, searching for skin. The moment you felt him, your heart stuttered for a moment and you grabbed for your door handle. The sensation of his digits sliding up the back of your neck, unintentionally massaging the scalp there making your tired body loll and lapse in judgement. 

He stepped closer, his second hand finding the small of your back, robe only barely putting any separation between your body and his warmth. His scent was everywhere around you, and you swore if he held you any closer you'd just fall asleep in his arms because he was just standing there, holding you. 

"May I kiss you again?" 

Well, if he could pull on his charm at anytime it would have to be now. Not that he needed it with the way he was tilting your head back. Your eyelids fluttered for a moment and you breathlessly answered back, "Yes."

And that was all he needed. His lips trailed along the junction of your neck, teasing the pulse that pounded rapidly there. The slight stubble on his face tickled you and it took everything in your power not to giggle at how ticklish it felt. You rubbed your legs together, trying desperately to sate the burning in your belly. His hand in your hand stopped, his thumb smoothing the hair away from your cheek before Robb stopped at your lips, lightly touching and you leaned forward just to get anything from him. He chuckled a little and had your not been so sleepy and heady with the desire to kiss this stupid red headed boy, you'd have kicked him straight in his shins before retreating into your room. 

You wished you had the right mind to do something like that. You shouldn't left him hanging but there you were at some late hour in the morning, in front of your room, caught up in an almost kiss with your "least favorite" Stark.

The way his said your name on your lips made you lightheaded. It wasn't fair, really. This would have gone completely different if you were well rested and fed and—

And then your heart soared. 

All the gods, old and new, could be damned if Robb Stark wasn't meant to kiss you like this. He tasted like honey and mint and something else sweet that you couldn't tell. He smelled like a Winterfell summer and the way he pushed you against your door had you grateful because you swore your legs were useless by the time he pulled away. His hands began to retreat from your form and you wouldn't just let him kiss you like that and leave you. 

Your hands shot out to his shirt and you pulled him back in, your hand finding those stupid curls that say atop his head. The kiss was a little more desperate, a little less graceful (probably because you had tried imitate whatever he had done to you and failed at it) but, Robb simply smiled into the sloppy attempt. 

He pulled away, a frown slipping onto your bitten lips, "Good night." With a chaste kiss upon your cheek, he left you once more with no breath and flushed cheeks. (How rude of him.)

Slumped against the door, legs not completely ready to move, you looked down at them hoping to inspire some sort of compliance. Alas, it was to no avail and you settled for taking a moment to gather your composure. You pushed yourself up from the door and turned to open the handle. 

A loud crunch diverted your gaze to your feet, and you were amazed (and somehow, relieved) because another note had slithered its way under your door. One piece of paper had the ability to completely revitalize your entire being after being so drained by Robb Stark's "kiss of death". 

You scooped it up and shut the door behind you, kicking off your shoes and sliding out of your robe in a fluid motion. You held the note close to your heart before going towards the fireplace for light. The chicken scratch on the parchment seemed even more shaky than usual, a few ink droplets here and there and a smudge as if the person who penned it had frenzied thoughts. They weren't as messy as this one was. This one looked hasty and quickly done. Your eyes soaked in each twist and curl and your heart fluttered at how nervous they must've been when penning the note. A last minute thing and you wondered if Robb had seen—

_I'm convinced, now, that kissing you, is all I will ever want to do with my life. RS_

•••

Robb entered his room and began pacing, back and forth. Maybe Jon was wrong. Maybe _he_ was wrong. Maybe signing his initials on the note was a horrible plan! What if she thought he was a creep? Well, he was cornering her in dark halls to kiss her...but she was reciprocating them back! 

He paced in front of his fireplace and wished his heart would slow down so that he could think properly for a minute. He should've listened to his Father's advice. He shouldn't be so impulsive and he should think things through, taking in the bigger picture and not just taking everything at face value. He should've listened. 

He was sixteen, he wasn't meant for this kind of pressure. Put a sword in his hand and he was completely at ease, but this was messier than he wanted it to be. Girls weren't usually this problematic. He'd had his fair share of stolen kisses with servant girls or other costing noble's daughters or nieces. Girls loved him. He was no stranger to the attention of their gossip, but with her things were different. 

She weren't some servant. She weren't some passing dignitary's daughter who he would only ever see once or twice in his lifetime. 

_You were you_ , he thought, stopping for a second to dwell on it.

Where would this lead eventually? She was going to get married off to some other house's Lord eventually and their tryst would be nothing but a passing affection, if any at all existed. A part of him wished he had never even started whatever it was that he started in the first place. After his birthday he was going to forget about the stupid crush, and focus on his own problems. It was Theon's fault that he drank too much wine and ended up at her doorstep with a hastily thrown together note. He'd been hiding away how annoying it was that you were ignoring him. He couldn't help it. The anonymity helped him justify his actions; there was no way you'd ever know it was him.

When he'd seen you kiss Jon, his temper flared and he had taken it out on the trees outside of Winterfell's walls. Maester Luwon had bandaged more than a few cuts on his hands from his rigorous efforts to deal with the fact that you'd confessed with his own words. That burned through him most. How flustered your face had been when you stumbled out a hastily rehearsed admission before crashing into his half-brother. It wasn't that he thought Jon wasn't good enough for you (well, maybe a bit of him may have believed that) but, he just couldn't fathom a world where you weren't getting what he thought you deserved. 

You deserved to be someone's life, you deserved to be lavished in anything your heart desired, you deserved the world if one could give it to you.

Robb fell onto his feather bed a groan escaping him, conflicted about the whole problem. You weren't an idiot, you probably would put it together and he'd be forced to face her and explain every word. He felt his chest constrict at the thought and he put his arm over his eyes. 

Tomorrow may have been a perfect day to avoid you entirely. 

•••

As it turned out, Robb Stark was not given a bit of the Mother's mercy, or any mercy from the Old Gods, and instead was seated next to you for breakfast. It would have normally been that he sat next to his father, but he'd made it late to the table and found himself in the chair next to you. Arya had already begun stacking piles of her eggs into a mountain before shoveling them towards her face. Bran laughed into his hand and Lady Catelyn eyed the two of them. 

He had barely heard you giggle at the sight before he was pushing himself up from the table. 

Lady Catelyn had protested, "Robb, you have to sit and eat before you leave."

"Mother, I'm not hungry. Please excuse—"

"Robb. Sit."

His family stared at him expectantly and with a reluctant sigh, Robb seated himself again, before grabbing his utensils. You'd reached for your drink and taken a small sip when Lady Catelyn had cut into an over medium egg, "Ser Rodrick said he saw a few lords and ladies out and about in the middle of the night. Does anyone have an explanation?"

Almost immediately the Stark children, save for Ricken, stiffened. Robb almost rolled his eyes that his entire family had a habit of wandering around the grounds with little supervision at strange hours. He supposed it was the Northern spirit in them, a nocturnal urge to explore under the cover of night. 

His mother continued, a stern expression that any mother would have when hearing of naughty children, "No one claims the blame?" She asked, pointedly, and Sansa drank from her own cup, gulps too large for an innocent person. "Then, I suppose everyone is punished."

"Forgive me, Lady Stark, it was me last night. I'd forgotten something in the library and I went to retrieve it," you spoke up, your utensils set to the side, and your hands in your lap as you held a shaky gaze with Robb's mother. 

Lady Catelyn closed her eyes before she heaved out a tired sigh, "You should not be so careless. I expect this kind of behavior to end."

"Of course," you took your fall with grace and the Stark children resumed their meals. Arya had tapped her shoe against your own as a sign of thanks and you tapped back in response. Robb could feel his own concentration at faking an indifference to you falter. You were right there next to him and all he had to do was turn and he could find your wonderful face. The face that had blossomed from a child to the face of a young lady coming into her age. He cursed himself at how sappy he sounded, as if his love notes weren't an already painful reminder. 

He tried to eat whatever he could so as to please his mother and he excused himself quickly and curtly, not trying to draw attention to his leave. His boots had almost made it out the dining hall and into the courtyard outside but a chair scraped backwards. Your voice as clear as day, politely asking to be excused. Lady Catelyn nodded you away and Robb picked up his pace, not bothering to hear you start walking out. 

A pace nearing a light jog had taken him and he turned a corner, attempting to break off any line of sight you might have had on him as he used the wall as support. It wasn't that he was out of breath, he just couldn't believe he was running from a girl. It was ridiculous. He was supposed to inherit the seat of Winterfell one day and he was running away from a girl? Gods, he was a mess.

"Why'd you run?" He let out a sound of shock as your figure appeared in front of him. He stood straight against the wall and threw his eyes off to the workers heaving bags of grain to the stables. You had your hands behind your back and you'd hardly stuttered when you said, "It wouldn't have anything to do with this, would it?" 

You gazed up at his taller figure, an innocent smile across your lips and Robb tried to relax, pretending not to be as unnerved as he was currently. He crossed his arms, "What are you talking about?"

He swallowed as you procured a folded (and most incriminating) piece of parchment. He shifted a bit, sweat gathering on the base of his neck and forehead. 

"Robb, please don't play dumb with me," you unfolded it and he thought about ripping it out of your hands and tearing it up. (Or running as fast as possible...) Instead he watched as you unfolded it with so much care, seeing your eyes skip to each word and how your mouth curved upwards like they always did when you got excited. He stopped himself from smirking by biting the inside of his cheek. "You must know, because you were in the hallways last night."

You continued, waving the paper back and forth for emphasis, "C'mon, you don't expect me to believe that Ricken or Bran wrote these, do you?"

Robb hung his head a little, heaving a sigh. You were as naive as he would like to have once believed and he opened his mouth, an explanation ready to pour out. "You're right, I know about the notes and I—"

Your finger found your thumb and then you have him the most hopeful of glances. He'd expected you to look a lot more confused, and you cut him off, "So, you admit that you know who wrote them then?"

"Of course, I—"

You nearly dropped the paper as you went for his arms and clutched on excitedly, a beaming smile upon your features. "You have to tell me then!"

"I—what? You mean, wait...you mean you don't know?" He quirked a brow and he watched as you face fell a little. That small frown you wore when you were concentrating came across your face and he inwardly smirked. _So, you were clueless._ He smirked, an less than honorable thing to do for Robb Stark, but when it came to you, he just couldn't help himself. You were just too fun to tease and your cluelessness had reached a new height. Then again, he didn't act like the type to go around leaving love notes. Yet, there were only so many people with the initials "RS" and he _had_ been at your door at some late hour. (He had nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized you were not in your room, but managed to play it off nicely last night.) "What if I told you _I_ wrote it?"

A blush crept up your neck, "Oh, please, as if you could possibly write something this nice about me. You only _attack_ me in dark corridors."

"And you expect me to help you out with that kind of attitude?"

"You don't have to help me out, but don't expect me to be so willing to let you touch me anymore."

"I'm not going to be missing much. You are a terrible kisser," he said. 

You pursed your lips in anger and huffed out, "If I'm so bad, then why bother?"

"Boredom."

"And they say your just as honorable as your father? Ha! You're horrible, Robb, you're horrible and rude!" You spat, a red flush on your cheeks but this time from fury and not embarrassment. "I'll find out on my own and whomever it may end up being, I know that they'll be hundred times better than you!"

"Oh? Then, I'll wish you luck, I really do."

And you stormed off, leaving Robb Stark to chuckle under his breath. Perhaps he did have the luck of the Gods on his side after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No footnotes this time :/
> 
> however, I can say that in the next chapter there is a birthday chapter for you. (My birthday is on the 12th, so maybe I'll post it then?? Maybe. Idk. Don't count on it but hey, look out for it?)


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